A Subtle Change In Perspective
by Rieka De-Volka
Summary: A study on the relationship between the greatest sarcastic pair at SUV, and the slow changes that turned them into lovers. MunchFin.


**Title:** A Subtle Change In Perspective.  
**Fandom:** Law & Order: Special Victims Unit.  
**Characters:** Fin, Munch.  
**Rating:** R.  
**Genre:** Drama.  
**Notes:** I wrote each of this drabbles separately, but I think they read better together as a single story.

* * *

**To Put It Bluntly.**

"Fuck," Fin told no one in particular, slumping back against the wall when the aching on his right leg got to the point he couldn't really stand anymore.

"Quite," Munch replied dryly, his glasses glinting strangely in the dim light coming from the dying lamp above them.

The older man crossed his arms over his chest, watching with a certain degree of doomed amusement as his partner shifted around his injured ankle and tried to sit in a more or less dignified manner over the pile of dirt. Munch could go over and try to help, of course, but then Fin would go all defensive at being pampered - which Munch never did, really, but who was he to contradict a gloriously tantrum-throwing Fin, anyway? - and their little annoying circumstances would get even more tricky, a whole lot faster.

They hadn't meant to get caught so easily; it was actually kind of embarrassing to admit to it, but they had been had. The basement was perfectly sealed and nearly sound proof, so it was going to be a good while before anyone found them. Fin's ankle had twisted awkwardly and it was probably hurting like a bitch, but it would be a cold day in hell before the rebel 'I-so-can-take-care-of-things-on-my-own-s

o-shut-up-now' detective asked for help. Much less Munch's help. It was exasperating some times. The rest of the time, to be honest, it was amusing.

"_Fuck_," Fin repeated after a moment, when the light bulb above their heads went off with a glorious puff.

"I heard you the first time," Now Munch was just trying to be annoying, Fin was sure. For his part, the older detective snorted loudly, "Oh wow, it _does_ feel good to say that. So that's why my ex-wife kept saying it... mmm, interesting." His mocking voice was almost convincing, but all it made was to deplete Fin's admittedly short patience.

"Maybe she's an _ex_ for a reason," He replied snidely, wondering just _when_ were the others going to check the basement?

"Cranky," Munch pointed out without a sliver of hurt in his voice, his amusement growing significantly at the other's antics. Really, Fin reminded him of a snarling, fussed up, wet cat when he got into his moods. "But unnecessary, they'll get us out soon enough."

"That would be nice," The former narcotics officer pointed out as dryly as he could, "Preferably before we _ro-uuph_!"

Munch blinked for a moment, then grinned at the sight - or rather, at the play of shadows that made up an image of Fin sprawled on the floor, the carton box he had been sitting on torn under him. He sneered lightly at his fallen companion, not feeling particularly compassionate.

"I rather _rot_ than _rut_ with you, just so you know," Munch said with a snort, "Unless of course, you're willing to wear white and pledge yourself as Mrs. Munch the seventh." Fin snarled, dangerously baring his teeth from his position on the floor and Munch entertained the idea that he'd snap that little chord of sanity that kept his partner going. After a moment, he continued, "Seven is number of luck, after all. Come to think about it, we might even end up happy. Hmm. Though then again, all the paperwork to legalize our union would drive the boss up a wall."

"Once I get up from here, I'm going to kick your ass so hard you won't be able to stand for a month," Fin looked positively murderous, which only served to amuse Munch some more.

After all, locked up in a basement, away from the action, a potential murderer on the loose and only his neurotic asshole of a partner as company, there wasn't much he could do.

"Kinky," He called out, giving a calculated step back when Fin's hand shot out to grab his leg, "Now, now, no hits under the belt, that'd be lewd."

"I hate you."

"To put it bluntly, yes," Munch sneered, hearing the faint screech of sirens outside, "But I also bet you look pretty darn hot in drag."

When the officers opened the door and Olivia managed to enter the dusty room, she was amused to find Fin sitting with his back against the wall, glaring daggers at Munch and seemingly plotting revenge. She wondered, not for the first time, what had they been thinking when they decided to pair _those_ two up.

* * *

**When Status Quo Trembles.**

Fin mumbled on his way up the stairs, sparing a venomous glare to the innocent elevator that obviously, _obviously_ had to be out of service. And what the fuck had Munch been thinking when he decided to live in a twenty-seventh floor? Wheezing a bit, and deciding it was not because he was out of shape, but rather because he had been running seventeen blocks before he actually reached the right address, Fin snorted. The apartment building was nice though, classy in that annoying Munch-ish way that made Fin feel inadequate four out every five times he talked with the man.

It was quite, quite aggravating.

Finding the number, he knocked loudly, exasperation showing through the gesture even when he tried to cool down a little. Really, it wasn't the time to pick up a fight. No matter how much he wanted to. Though, if he was completely honest with himself - and he was - he was actually a bit worried about the fact Munch had ignored the pager. And the cellphone. And his phone. And all the other attempts to contact him. Fin had reached the point he had considered smoke signals seriously for a moment, before he decided to go and fetch the annoying conspiracy asshole and drag him back to the office where he would be safe and out of the clutches of homicidal idiots with grudges and childhood issues. It was early too, a bit past midnight on a Friday, surely the big idiot couldn't be doing anything more important than reading a book or checking a few websites.

It was _Munch_, after all.

With all that in mind, it was quite, quite surprising to find a very annoyed Munch opening the door, glaring at Fin like he was the vilest scum on earth, shirtless and wearing a pair of pants that very obviously hadn't been on five minutes prior.

Fin found he had a bit of a problem grasping his mind around the fact Munch was _shirtless._

"Yes?" The older man asked tersely, eyes narrowed considerably.

"Eh," Fin blinked, hoping the vision would disappear and the real Munch would step in, dressed properly and looking faintly irritated, not right out pissed off. Shirtless Munch didn't disappear. "Right. We found our suspect. And his target." At the risen eyebrow he got, Fin started feeling quite stupid, "It's eh..."

"John?" The high pitched voice wasn't precisely annoying - at any other time Fin would have found it rather melodious - but it grated his nerves when it made Munch's state of undress far more clear, "Who's that?"

"No one, Monet," Munch - _John_ - called back with an exaggerated sigh, "Just get back to bed, I'll be right back."

Fin felt something snap in irritation at being dismissed so clearly, and at being called a _no one_. Because he wasn't goddamnit. He glared.

"They're targeting _you_, asshole, thank you very much," He bit out harshly, bristling without the faintest idea why he was suddenly so murderous, "And I'll have you know I'm still Mrs. Munch the seventh."

Munch allowed the left corner of his lip to quirk in a knowing way that only served to make Fin seethe some more, then shrugged.

"I'd ask you to come in and meet Mrs. Munch the eighth, but I don't really feel like having a threesome right now," He arched an eyebrow when Fin spluttered, "And anyway, thanks for the warning, I'll figure it out from here."

When he closed the door, effectively stopping Fin from making an irritated remark, the younger man turned around wildly, looking for something to kill, before he settled to simply kick the elevators doors and storm downstairs without so much as a second glance. He dreamed of the shirtless Munch that night, but he firmly told himself he dreamed of shirtless Munch getting _murdered_ rather than laid.

Fin ignored the voice in his head that pointed out dryly what a lousy liar he was.

* * *

**Trust Issues.**

Fin snarled, feeling his windpipe constrict under the tight pressure of the wide hand wrapped around his neck. He had seen a lot of drug affected people during his stay in narcotics, but certainly it was unnerving to have the dilated pupils staring him down from so close. The man as an esteroid-pumped asshole, too. Fin was tired, really, really tired. After nearly forty eight hours of chasing the maniac around, it just figured that he'd get caught up like an idiot.

The would-be victim cowered in a corner, sobbing erratically. She couldn't be older than ten, which was why they had been so desperate about this case.

Now, if only Fin had seen it fit to tell others about his brilliant plan, then maybe he wouldn't be stuck in such a state. His right arm throbbed continously, reminding him of the injury. The man smiled nastily at him, raising the dagger up to his face and trailing the tip across his cheek, light enough it didn't leave a mark, but it made the hairs on the back of Fin's head to stand on end.

If he died right then, he was never going to properly win a round against Munch, and after over a year, he felt slightly cheated.

Of course, just as he was trying to figure out a list of things he still had to do with his sorry excuse for a life, there was a clean shot and the body holding him up crumbled on the floor. Fin stared at the corpse, long after the knife clattered away from his hand.

"You alright there, Fin?"

And then there was Munch, still holding the gun in a tight grip, glasses glinting against the light coming from the doorway. Fin transfered his stare from the corpse to his partner, not entirely sure how he had managed to find them or why he was holding a gun. Then of course, he sagged against the wall, smirking.

"Yeah," He sounded shaken, but then again, this case had hit him up close, "Just peachy." He winced at his own sarcasm, knowing - and not quite sure _how_ - that Munch was rolling his eyes behind his glasses.

Why was he the one that always got hit, shot, slapped and whatnot? Munch never got seriously hurt when they went around solving a case. He was always pristine and classy, standing out in a loud contrast to Fin's own style. Munch didn't seem the type to dirty his hands with the uglier side of work, apparently he was just content with filing reports and fixing clues in the office.

But he was certainly capable of shoting a gun, Fin realized with a light shudder, by the precise hit on the bastard's temple. That had been a hit to kill, and it was unnerving to imagine sarcastic, annoying Munch as someone capable and willing to do that.

"Hey," Munch entered the room slowly, checking the place warily, before he placed a hand on Fin's not-injured shoulder, "C'mon."

"You didn't have to kill him, you know," And as irrational as it sounded, that was the first thing Fin wanted to say. Not 'thank you' or 'you asshole', as he would have thought. He just blinked, unnerved by the sheer calm in Munch's face, surprised when the man actually smiled.

It was a grim, thin smile, but it was the first time Munch smiled at Fin, under any circumstances.

"I'm not going to die for you," He said calmly, far too calmly for someone who had just killed a man, "But I'm not going to let you die, either. Now get up, we've got work to do."

Fin frowned but did as he was told, grumbling a few choice words when he jolted his shoulder and tried to figure out what the older man meant. He felt relieved, for some reason, and he even allowed Munch to mock him for his ineptitude. He ignored the strange fondness that had started to overcome his natural avertion for the bastard and instead mourned the fact he was now in Munch's debt.

That was quite a scary prospect.

* * *

**Friday Night Blues.**

Fin was drunk. Not Friday-night drunk either, Munch noted wryly, but rather spring-breaker-teenage-menace drunk. The black man laughed raucously and for the first time in a very long time, the older detective was forced to seat behind the wheel, least his companion decided they needed to visit the river and both ended neck deep into the Hudson. That would be complicated to explain to their boss and their insurance and as much as Munch enjoyed complications, he enjoyed _being_ the complication, not the one whose life was needlessly complicated.

With that strange train of thought in mind, he dragged Fin up the stairs and into the lift to his apartment, struggling for a moment with a giggling African American that refused to stay put, plus his own fifty something years and Munch decided he was _old_.

He sighed theatrically in that dramatic way that was so incipient if there wasn't anyone around to see it, and dropped Fin by his bedroom.

It had been raining when they got out of Ginky's, so by the time Munch managed to convince Fin that no, most assuredly he wasn't flirting with the lanky asshole by the main door, and reaching the car parked a two blocks away, they both were reduced to soaked, shivering rats. Munch cursed loudly when he heard a thud and another crack of hysteric laughter. Coming out of the bathroom, a handful of towels in his hands, he found Fin curling by the feet of the bed, face burrowed into the cheap, ugly carpet Munch had bought nearly thirty years ago for his first bachelor apartment. The image was strangely endearing in a completely fucked up way, so he went over and picked up his partner with a roll of his eyes.

"You know, I ain't letting you celebrate in my name again," Munch swore again when Fin almost slipped between his arms, letting out a delighted hoot as he slid perilously close to the floor, "_Fin_."

"Hmm," Said man, who was at the moment blissfully incapacitated by alcohol poisoning, smiled sloppily and tilted his head to look upside down at the taller man, "Glad to have you back, baby, hated seeing you in that desk."

"Why?" Munch asked, even if he knew Fin was too drunk to catch the venomous tone, "Because I actually got your stupid paperwork done?"

He'd been confined to a desk for three whole months after the incident in which he'd somehow put a bullet between a man's eyebrows, when said man had a knife well aimed to carve his partner's perpetual smirk off his face. Munch was willing to admit he was fiercely territorial, but if someone was going to kill Fin - and for sake of anything holy, he _was_ going to kill Fin - it was going to be _him_, not some wailing sicko that couldn't get it on with someone over the age of consent.

"'Course not," Fin hiccuped stumbling over his own feet as Munch headed him to the bathroom. They needed a shower to get the icy feeling of the rain out of their bones, or they were going to catch a cold. If Fin caught a cold, Munch was never going to hear the end of it. "I just missed ya."

Munch rolled his eyes at the silly grin and shoved his friend into the shower not too gently. He regretted it the moment Fin pulled him along into the small cubicle.

It was all forgotten a moment later though, when his partner's mouth found his and through the fog of water and the stench of alcohol, John Munch found himself speechless for about point two seconds. Then his brain returned to the job and ordered his body around until Fin was rudely slammed against the wall. Munch sneered.

"Don't do things you'll regret in the morning, kid."

Fin looked dazed for a moment, then grinned again and kissed him again, and for the second time in as many minutes, Munch was left breathless and bewildered. That didn't happened often.

"Been wanting to do that for ages, so shut up old man," Fin nuzzled the underside of his neck, ignoring the fact both of them were still clothed and still drenched in rain - and now shower - water. "Let me chalk it up to booze tomorrow morning though."

And hearing those words and feeling those wrenched fingers slipping through his clothes, John Munch mourned the fact he wasn't drunk enough to take the offer and ignore his morals. Hated the fact he wasn't drunk enough to forget he loved the man too much to do just what he was asking for.

* * *

No Morning After Songs. 

Fin woke up sprawled in a bed that was certainly not his own, but which smelled familiar. Very familiar and very nice, his mind provided easily, and he found himself nuzzling the pillows before he could process what he was doing. Munch. His mind told him without him asking, just as he was getting comfortable. Yeah, this is Munch you're smelling.

Odafin Tutuola woke up in record time after-wards, hang over and headache forgotten amidst of his panic attack.

He also stumbled with the covers that got stuck around his feet and ended up face first against the ugliest carpet he'd ever seen before. From the doorway, someone snorted. Fin closed his eyes and willed Mother Earth to be merciful and swallow him whole. She didn't. Vindictive bitch.

"Someone's up and about," Munch said with that overly mocking tone of his, "Or rather, down and about, but you get the point. My neighbours might even sleep too, considering you stopped your infernal hollering."

Immediately, Fin sat up, offended.

"I don't snore!"

"No, I didn't say you did," Munch smiled, the glasses catching the light from outside the room and reflecting it in an eerily complacent way, "I said you hollered. Which you do. Mind, I could hear you all the way to the living room."

Fin was about to make a particularly stingy retort when the full implications hit him. He noticed their roles had reversed, clearly. It was usually him that took the couch - sodden, ugly, uncomfortable piece of shit that Munch kept around for the sake of either annoying him or remembering better times - in the living room and Munch to his little Munch-scented bed and all was well in the world. Except for that day, the headache, the hang over and the strange, fuzzy memory that he'd done something very stupid the night before.

"Well?" Munch rolled his eyes, aggravated, "Get up, your breakfast's cooling."

Sullen and feeling ten years old again, Fin untangled himself from the bed and followed Munch into his hellhole of a kitchen. Most of the apartment was far over the okay label, but the kitchen was definitely the one place where it was... peculiar. But Fin wasn't about to complain when he could smell something definitely meant for him in the air and he sat at his usual spot across the table.

"Why did you sleep on the couch?" Fin tried to sound hurt, though he was genuinely curious, "I thought that was my spot."

"Let's not talk about last night," Munch seemed testy, and Fin figured it had something to do with the fact he'd lost count of what he'd drunk the night before. He hadn't meant to, but he had felt so... tired. He'd needed the buzz, but apparently Munch had paid for it.

"What happened last night?" Fin trusted him, grudgingly at first, completely by then, and he knew Munch wasn't the type of asshole that bullshitted you when you asked a straight question.

Straight. The last remains of alcohol in him made Fin choke a snort at the notion. Oh, he knew all about straight.

"Nothing to regret, don't worry," Don't do anything you'll regret in the morning, kid. Fin shivered. "Besides, I recall telling you you'd have to wear white and pledge to be Mrs. Munch the seventh to get some Munchkin."

Oh. My. God. Fin finished his breakfast mechanically... silently plotting a little trip to Oz. He hadn't gotten a single Morning After Song, after all, he deserved one.

* * *

**A Lovely Generally Unlovable Jealous Idiot.**

Monday slowly bled into the world, and Fin found himself feeling quite shitty. Munch hadn't said much about Friday, but Fin never forgot things he did while drunk - not for long, anyways. And now there was the annoying feeling pooling in his stomach that he'd get to work, only to get a slap, proverbial or otherwise, for his stupid drunken mistake. After all, Munch was many things, but he had a weakness when it came to extracting revenge.

Odafin Tutuola was feeling quite, quiet miserable as he drove to Munch's apartment, figuring he should at least drive his partner to work, and dreading it all the same.

After a terse breakfast on Saturday, Fin had fled Munch's apartment before the older man had a chance to sort out things with him. He knew his partner, knew his moods and his quirks and a thousand little things that made him curious and which had eventually lead him to realize he _loved_ John Munch, as much of a damnable bastard he was most of the time. But Munch would either be disgusted with the idea - the Monet incident, so long ago, still haunted Fin on occasion - or he would be patient and understanding, either way leaving Fin alone and miserable. Well, even more miserable than he was already.

"You look like a kid who's been told Christmas was canceled," Munch called in as greeting, arching his eyebrows behind his glasses as he slid into the passenger seat. Fin flinched.

"Sorry, bad night." It wasn't a lie. Not a complete one, anyway, and Munch really didn't need to know Fin had spent a good part of Sunday figuring out ways to fix the mess his stupid behavior had caused.

When they reached the precinct, Munch arched an eyebrow as Fin scrambled out of his way with as much dignity he could muster, muttering something about coffee. The older man bit back a knowing grin, wondering for how long was Fin going to torture himself before coming clean with him. Munch figured he could at least extract some amusement out of the situation, considering he _had_ been a responsible adult about things and hadn't shagged his partner silly while he was drunk and willing in his bathroom.

But he _was_ going to, at some point, in the near future. Yes.

"Hey, Munch," Olivia smiled at him, something mischievous glinting in her eyes as she waved, "There's someone looking for you at the lounge."

Munch's head snapped to the clock on the wall immediately, his brow furrowing when he noticed it was far to early for _anyone_ with a decent life to be looking for him. The Munchean curiosity piqued, he made his way to the room, wondering what was up and forgetting about the Fin-torture-session for a moment. He didn't notice Olivia's smile turn positively wicked when she nudged Stabbler - who was more dead than alive by that point, having spent the whole weekend chasing after a rapist suspect who ended up a suicidal egotist - or he wouldn't have entered the room, only to find a very familiar face inside.

"John."

Brian Cassidy was what's up, apparently, and Munch couldn't help the smile that tug at his lips when he saw his friend standing idly around. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him as the younger man beamed at him. He looked positively ecstatic. Munch wondered.

"I'm getting married," Brian blurted out, pulling a silver chain from under his shirt, in which a little ring was resting.

"You're what?" Munch shook his head, still smiling slightly, "When? Who? Why have you lost your mind and refused to learn from my bad example?"

"In two weeks, we're going up to Toronto to legalize it," Brian paused his tirade, his smile turning slightly nervous, "About examples, I kinda did, you know. Since I'm not marrying anyone remotely similar to the past Mrs. Munch-es."

"Oh?" The Toronto bit hinted at something, but Munch wanted Brian to come out and say it; it was only fair, after all, if he was indeed asking Munch to go to his wedding, "Is that so?"

"For starters I don't quite recall you telling me any Mrs. Munch that had an acute affinity with your own sex, you know," Munch's minute smile intensified, and that was all the reassurance Brian needed, "You're gonna love him, you know? Well, not _love_ him, 'cause he's mine, but I know you'll like him at least."

"And how things change," Munch sighed theatrically, crossing his arms over his chest, "As it would seem Mrs. Munch the Seventh does fit your description quite nicely."

"Really?" Cassidy's blue eyes were wide as the corners of his smile almost brushed his ears, then he paused, frowning, "Wait, wait... Seventh? You married three times since I left and didn't even bother to tell me? It's off, John, you ain't my friend anymore."

"Ha," Munch laughed dryly, "Hardly. Two tried fiercely, one almost convinced me to, but no," He raised his hand, showing off the ringless finger, "See? I do learn my lesson." At Brian's bewildered look, he shrugged, "Oh, it's just my latest... interest. Can't shake him off no matter how hard I try. Most be a masochist, the poor guy."

"Ooh," Cassidy's eyes took upon the same glint Munch remembered from those times they passed the time discussing important matters, like J-Lo's latest hip dance or the front page of Penthouse. Some things, the older man realized, never really did change, "Is he cute?"

"Weren't you here to invite me to your _wedding_?"

"Just asking, geez," But Brian's smile was sincere and Munch was willing to admit he had missed it, just a little. "And yes, I'd very much like to have you there. Olivia said she'd come and drag Elliot along, too. Even the boss' seriously considering coming." Munch nodded, and suddenly found himself crushed in the arms of the younger man. Brian held onto him as if he was going to disappear into thin air, bringing a little smile on Munch's face as he patted the broad back gently, "I missed you."

"I'm sure you didn't," Munch smirked, "You're far too smart for that."

"I-"

"Hey Munch, you in here? I-"

There was an awkward silence as Fin entered the room to find someone - a very handsome, very _male_ someone - that deep into Munch's personal space. It was like the Monet incident, only worse, because they were at work, and Munch was touching _him_. Fin wanted, once more, to be swallowed whole by loving mother earth. Again, she didn't oblige him.

"Oh," He felt himself scowling as Munch stepped back, keeping one hand lying idly on the other man's shoulder, "I'll just wait for you once you're done, we've got a case."

Munch sighed theatrically and rolled his eyes at the blatant jealousy that was twisting Fin's features. If he'd been twenty years younger, it'd have been endearing. At the moment, it was plain irritating.

"Odafin Tutuola, stop being ass," Brian choked on a snort at the sight of Fin's flabbergasted expression, "Also come in and close the door." Munch smirked, then added as an after thought, "And shut your mouth, you're gonna catch a fly in there."

"Is he the poor, masochistic Mrs. Munch the Seventh?"

At Brian's question, Fin's expression turned thunderous and he bristled visibly, shutting the door with far more strength than it was strictly necessary.

"What the-"

Munch slammed him against the door, and before he could raise hell and high water about it, he was being thoroughly kissed. Brian gave a hoot of laughter. Fin didn't give a flying fuck about it. He gave out a throaty moan, clinging to Munch with every fiber of his being. It wasn't a very neat kiss, it was sloppy and wet, aggressively fierce and heated enough to leave Fin's mind spinning.

"He's also a lovely, generally unlovable jealous idiot, yes," Munch smiled, pulling Fin forward into his arms and making Brian smile in that blindingly warm way of his that melted knees, "But he's still mine."

Fin was too dazed and too content to argue the point yet.

* * *

**A Subtle Change In Perspective.**

He was staring. Again.

Munch heaved a put upon sigh and rolled around to find Fin resting his head on his folded arm, looking down at him curiously. It was an alien expression in the detective's usually scowling face, but Munch had become much accustumed to see 'alien' expressions ever since they became entangled - as he so fondly called their involvement. Indeed, he'd seen emotions and expressions in Fin's face, that if the younger detective were to walk into the precinct wearing them, their colleagues would panic.

But that was not the point at the moment. The point was that he was tired - he was _old_, goddamnit - and he wanted to sleep, before waking up and spending yet another day playing cat-and-mouse with th nutcase of the week.

"What?"

"Have you ever wondered how we got here?" Fin's smile curved widely, light dancing in his eyes like a child's on Christmas. His voice filled with that rough smoothness that usually could make Munch accept anything - from washing dishes after dinner, to change roles in bed, to filing paperwork, to allow Fin to smoke in their little cave-in apartment.

"On occasion, yes," Munch smirked, "Though generally I assume it has something to do with a few wanton kisses and the ripped shirt incident that's trained me to undress before you think about... giving me a helping hand."

"You know what I mean," Fin's expression was a mix of a sour frown and a heated memory flashing behind his eyelids. Munch shrugged.

"Then, no, I haven't," He snuggled down the covers, trying to steal a bit of warmth against the cold outside. Winter was fast approaching, and with it, their first anniversary. Truly, Munch was surprised they'd managed to survive each other's temper for so long, "Experience has taught me that over-analyzing things leads to attorney's office and divorce papers."

"Munch."

Fin rolled his eyes and slid closer to him, insinuating himself against him as if he'd always belonged there, which, curiously enough, Munch thought he did. There was a moment of silence as they rearranged the covers to keep either of them from freezing his ass off, and then another moment in which Munch began falling asleep again. Then Fin began talking again, his voice rumbling through his chest and directly into Munch's insides.

"I do, think about it, I mean," Fingers trailing through his hair, Munch sunk deeper and deeper into sleep, "I think we got here because I stopped seeing you as that annoying know-it-all asshole that simply wouldn't let me do my work in peace. 'Cause you never really changed, I don't think I'd love you as much as I do if you had." Someone was kissing his temple; Munch snuggled closer to the source of warmth.

"Love you," Was his muffled reply, interrupted by a soft snore that cause Fin to go on into a snickering fit.

"But _I_'m the one that snores," He told no one in particular as he settled down to sleep, enjoying the feel of Munch's skin against his own, "Love you too, grumbling idiot."

A subtle change in perspective... and all that came from it.

* * *

_(A/N) Review?_


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